


Cumulative

by Thorinsmut



Series: Junkers [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Animal Death, Biotics, Bittersweet, Complete, Crying, Drug Abuse, Explosions, Hurt/Comfort, I say after tagging all those things, Kind of fluffy, M/M, Mentions of Violence, Mentions of child sexual abuse, One Shot, Sickfic, Snorting, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, Vomiting, entomophagy, hogdrogen, huffing, mentions of euthanasia, mentions of transactional sex, no longer canon compliant, objectively awful soup, off-label drug use, radiation poisoning, since it was written well before the 'wasted land' comic came out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-02
Packaged: 2018-08-12 12:35:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7934782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thorinsmut/pseuds/Thorinsmut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first few days, Roadhog enjoyed the increasing quiet from Junkrat.</p><p>The loss of energy, of appetite, the way Junkrat's patchy hair was falling out in chunks - it all should have clued Roadhog in.</p><p>He should have realized sooner that something was very wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cumulative

For the first few days, Roadhog enjoyed the increasing quiet.

It made sense to him that Junkrat would go in cycles, that the twitchy manic activity would be balanced with periods of listlessness and exhaustion. So he didn't worry, even though Junkrat had never done it before. Junkrat's memory was never the best, so it didn't worry Roadhog that he seemed more distracted than usual. His stories got more rambling and nonsensical, and then stopped altogether.

Roadhog drove on, through the endless red roads of the Outback with Junkrat tinkering away in his sidecar more quietly than usual. Sometimes, Junkrat even seemed to sleep in it. It was a nice change of pace from his constant laughing and chattering, and Roadhog appreciated it. Almost, he could pretend he was driving alone. He hadn't had any time alone in the six months since Junkrat hunted him down and hired him as a bodyguard.

That Junkrat stopped climbing all over Roadhog begging for sex was a less welcome change. In the past months Roadhog had gotten used to getting off whenever the mood struck. When Roadhog got tired of waiting for him and tried to initiate things with Junkrat himself, Junkrat didn't respond. He flinched like Roadhog's hand on his back hurt, turning his face away.

That maybe should have been the first clue that something was actually wrong. Junkrat had always had a libido as high as his energy was. He always chased after Roadhog's touch like he craved it. Roadhog just chalked it up to another side effect of Junkrat's low mood and let it go. An unwilling partner was no fun to Roadhog, even if they _weren't_ likely to wire explosives to his nutsack for forcing the issue. He had a taste for Junkrat eagerly choking on his cock or babbling nonsense praises to his hands and his strength, and could wait for Junkrat to be in the mood again. Wasn't like Roadhog was unacquainted with the comfort of his own hand in the meanwhile.

Junkrat's loss of appetite should have been another clue. Junkrat usually ate anything and everything he could get his hands on, no matter how unpalatable, and fidgeted every last calorie of it off his bones, but as his energy dwindled so did his appetite. Roadhog just figured it went along with his loss of energy – he wasn't hungry when he wasn't burning so much off.

He should have realized something was wrong.

That wasn't what he was paid for, though. He was paid to keep anyone from killing Junkrat and to support him in his mad and absolutely genius heists. They were carving a ragged red line across the Outback – explosions and blood and taking everything they wanted or needed. Setting up for their world tour. The world had turned its back on Australia. Well here were a couple Australians going to make them look back.

Make them _look_ at what they'd done.

Roadhog would be lying if he said he wasn't eager for it, beyond his half share of the take.

"Shit." Junkrat's voice was quiet, but Roadhog immediately looked up from the last bite of cricket kebab, tensing. It hadn't taken him long at all to learn that particular tone. More than once he'd been forced to dive for cover because Junkrat had accidentally triggered one of his explosives.

It wasn't anything like that this time. Junkrat was just holding a clump of singed hair in his hand. Roadhog figured he must have broken the brittle strands off, leaving his head patchier than ever. Junkrat giggled, high and nervous, and tossed it into the fire before lurching to his feet to dive into his sidecar for more supplies for whatever he was building.

That Junkrat was shedding chunks of hair, more than anything, should have been a giant clue. Roadhog just tugged his mask back down over his face and was glad it filtered out the worst of the burning-hair smell.

Junkrat was restless that night. Not the kind of restless that had him climbing into Roadhog's bedroll for a tumble, which would have been welcome, or the less-welcome kind of restless that had him talking a mile a minute and throwing grenades at kangaroos in the middle of the night. It was the kind of restless that had him tossing and turning and moving into and out of camp until Roadhog was tempted to chain him up just to keep him still so he could _sleep_.

The next day Roadhog was in a bad mood from lack of sleep. He barely paid any attention to Junkrat, who was sulking around camp and ate almost no breakfast. Junkrat curled up in the bottom of his sidecar wrapped in a blanket when it was time to go. Bastard kept Roadhog awake half the night then got to sleep while Roadhog drove.

Roadhog grumbled under his breath and looked their map over one last time before setting out. They had a long ways to go until the next target on their list – a whole lot of nothing to drive through. He was pissed off, and ignored Junkrat. Right up until the moment Junkrat leaned over the far side of his sidecar and hurled his guts out all over the road behind them.

Junkrat wasn't just low on energy, he was actually _sick_. Roadhog kept his eyes on the road as he reached one hand out toward Junkrat.

"Get off. Don't touch me!" Junkrat swatted at Roadhog's hand, but Roadhog still managed to feel his forehead. Or most of his face, really. Roadhog's hand was not a subtle instrument. Junkrat always ran hot, with his fast metabolism, but he was burning up.

"You have a fever," Roadhog said, jerking his hand back just ahead of Junkrat's viciously snapping teeth.

"I'm fine." Junkrat rinsed his mouth out with water from his canteen and settled back into a miserable curl of limbs in the bottom of his sidecar. "Just keep driving. I'll be fine."

Roadhog kept driving. He kept driving as Junkrat threw up again, a few hours later. He kept driving until Junkrat threw up the third time. The intervals between were growing shorter. Roadhog pulled the bike over in the first decent looking camping spot.

There were chunks of blond hair in the bottom of the sidecar when Junkrat climbed out of it. Junkrat didn't immediately begin unpacking and setting up their camp and gathering up a firewood in a disorganized whirlwind of activity that somehow always managed to get everything done, how he usually did. He just wrapped his blanket tight around himself and limped over to lay in a patch of shade beneath a rock after only briefly checking it for snakes or scorpions.

It was just wrong, now that Roadhog was paying attention to him. Junkrat was supposed to be all uncontainable energy, grinning mania to match his favorite smiley yellow bombs. That he wasn't was worrying.

Roadhog left him to rest and went in hunt of dinner. There was grass growing, scrubby in the lee of the hills. It was lousy with rabbits, and Roadhog caught two with his hook without much trouble. They were broken up a bit, but better than if he'd tried his scrap gun. And much better than if Junkrat tried to catch them with bombs, that never ended well. Roadhog roughly cleaned the rabbits and gathered firewood on his way back to the camp.

Junkrat didn't jump up to assemble and light the fire when Roadhog dumped the firewood in a pile – and fire was his second favorite thing right after explosions. So Roadhog made the fire, smaller than Junkrat would have attempted, and stuck the rabbits on a couple sticks to roast over it.

Not even the scent of the fat sizzling off the rabbits as they cooked made Junkrat perk up. That was always one of his favorite meals, too, though he typically liked to season his portion with a pinch of gunpowder. That was a taste Roadhog would never take to.

The silence was loud. It should have been filled with Junkrat's voice, laughing over past exploits or making wild plans for the future. Blow up a big monument the moment they landed on a new land mass, just as a hello, and then some big heists for cash and treasure and the sheer joy of terror and destruction. Nowhere within earshot of Junkrat should ever have been silent, but it was.

"Food," Roadhog said, taking the rabbits off the fire.

"Don't want it," Junkrat whined, curling in on himself. Fetal position. What the human body did when it was miserable and didn't know what else to do.

"You need your strength, boss," Roadhog said, tearing the leg off one of the rabbits. Junkrat always liked being called boss, and he did smile a little bit. He didn't protest beyond some quiet hissing when Roadhog sat him up and put the rabbit leg in his hand. "Eat," Roadhog urged, and turned to his own rabbit. It was a bit tough, slightly charred, but it was food. Nothing he couldn't tear apart with his teeth. Nothing Junkrat wouldn't normally gobble down as fast as possible.

Junkrat wasn't eating fast, but he _was_ eating his rabbit leg. Roadhog took a break from his own to take Junkrat's canteen and top it off with water. Dehydration was always a danger in the Outback, and especially if he was sick and throwing up most of what he drank. Junkrat's lips looked dry and chapped, beyond what they normally did.

Junkrat tossed his cleaned rabbit bone into the fire, his face screwed up in a sour expression. He reached for the canteen, but lurched to his feet and to the other side of the boulder he was sheltering against before he finished the motion. He was throwing up again.

Whatever bug he'd picked up, it was a nasty one.

Roadhog followed Junkrat around the boulder to hand him the canteen, when he was done emptying his stomach. Junkrat didn't take it. He clung to the boulder with his mechanical hand like it was the only think keeping him upright. He was laughing, high and nervous. Roadhog had gotten to know Junkrat's laughs well, and this was definitely not a good one.

"This is it, isn't it?" Junkrat said, laughing again. Desperation. "This is how I die, just 'cause I can't keep the pills down."

Pills? Looking down, Roadhog did see a fleck of bright blue in the vomit—a pill that hadn't had time to dissolve before it came back up.

"Knew I didn't have another decade, but I thought I'd last a few more years? Didn't even make it off the continent," Junkrat spat. He hit the rock, smacked it hard with his mechanical hand. "It was always going to be the radiation that did me in, right? Doomed the minute the Omnium blew."

Radiation poisoning. Of course. Roadhog had been a grown man when the world went to shit, Junkrat had grown up with it poisoning everything he ate and drank and breathed. Roadhog had his mask to filter the worst of the dust out, and he kept a gieger counter on the bike and kept away from anywhere the concentrations were too high. Junkrat didn't. He'd found his treasure in the depths of the Omnium itself, right at the epicenter. He'd obviously taken normally-fatal doses of radiation, but Roadhog had figured he had some way to deal with it.

The pills, probably. Whatever they were.

Junkrat finally looked up at Roadhog, spit and bile on his chin and fire hot as radiation burning in his vivid orange eyes. "Burn it down," he said. "Burn the whole fucking world down for me, Roadie. I'm not gonna make it."

All the rage of the abandoned, the betrayed and poisoned and left for dead. Roadhog knew it well, and it was all pouring out of Junkrat in his desperation. They were supposed to make a good team, to take that rage and unleash their destruction on the world, together.

Roadhog couldn't do it alone. It wouldn't be _fun_... and when had fun become something he expected of life again? Some time in the last six months.

Junkrat was wrestling a pill bottle out of his pocket now, lifting it to his mouth to try and take another pill. Roadhog let him, handing him the canteen to wash it down, and took the pill bottle himself.

Biotics, cheap healing nanobiotics of the kind you sometimes got in the half-assed humanitarian aid that trickled into the Outback, and years out of date. They'd keep you alive, sure, but they wouldn't do much more than that. And that was _if_ they got into your system. Obviously they hadn't been getting into Junkrat's.

"How long since one stayed down?" Roadhog asked.

"Dunno," Junkrat answered. "I might have forgot to take one for a few days? And now they won't stay down." He laughed, brief and ugly, as he pushed past Roadhog to return to his blanket. "Stupidest way to die, isn't it?"

For someone who could time an explosion to the millisecond, Junkrat didn't really have a strong grasp of time even at his best. He lived in a world of 'now'. The past was only 'the other day' and 'a long time ago'. The future was all either 'soon' or 'someday'. And he wasn't going to make it to his someday at this rate. The thought set something cold and sour under Roadhog's breastbone.

Roadhog pocketed the pills and went to the bike, digging through his things. He hated it, hated that feeling stirring in his guts, making his hands shake as he picked up a canister of hogdrogen. Weak. Desperate. He'd given up on it, given up on hope and anything good out of life far too many years ago. All that was left was survival, and that ought to have been enough. Had been enough for long enough he'd almost forgotten about anything else, but now his 'boss' was dying and Roadhog was the desperate boy he'd been all that time ago. When he still thought he could fix the world.

He ought to go. He ought to get back on the bike, dump out Junkrat's things if he wanted to get sentimental about it, and drive away. Alone, out into the radiation wastes and the wild. Leave the dying to die and never think about him again. He ought to, but Roadhog wasn't. He was digging through his stuff searching for a bag. He had to have some sort of a bag _somewhere_ in his belongings. It wasn't like Junkrat could use Roadhog's mask, even if Roadhog wanted to take it off. It would never seal around his sharp little face.

He hated it. Hated that he'd let himself get attached, after all these years of dealing death, riding alone, and trusting no one. Junkrat was like a splinter, though. He'd gotten under Roadhog's skin. Or more like a tattoo, because unlike a splinter Roadhog wasn't going to pry him out.

He hated it, but Roadhog wasn't going to let go without a fight.

"Hair falls out, then your skin falls off," Junkrat was rambling, probably to himself. As glad as Roadhog was to hear him talking again, he could have chosen a better topic than the symptoms of radiation poisoning. "Everything runs out of your body from both ends. You stop making new blood. Anemia. Can't fight off any infection."

Roadhog found a bag, finally. It was waxed paper, and had once held some stale cookies they'd picked up a few hits ago. Roadhog had held onto it to use as tinder if there was ever a day when their firewood was all damp. It didn't seem to have any holes in it, at least. Junkrat went silent behind him. Losing the contents of his stomach again, faster than ever.

That was what he'd been doing all night, wasn't it? Quietly dying of radiation poisoning, throwing up the one medicine that would save him while Roadhog angrily tried to sleep.

"Your body boils itself from the inside out," Junkrat said, with a giggle that sounded more like a sob as Roadhog turned back to him with the canister and the bag. Roadhog couldn't see Junkrat's skin tone through the dirt and ash that coated him – couldn't tell if he was all red with radiation burn or pale with anemia. He could see that Junkrat's whole body was shaking with tremors as he settled awkwardly on his blanket. "Don't let me go like that, Roadie. Don't make me. Do it quick," he begged, lifting his throat like he expected Roadhog to reach out and break his neck right there.

"Shut up," Roadhog growled. His hands were big and clumsy for it, but he managed to seal the bag around the mouth of the hogdrogen canister and triggered the nozzle to fill it with gas. He wasn't actually sure what-all was in it. Hospitals carried it, mixed tiny bits of it with the oxygen they pumped into patients, and Roadhog stole it from them. It was probably some sort of healing nanobiotic, something stronger than Junkrat's pills. Roadhog took a breather with it and he healed, so he made sure to keep a stock on hand. He hadn't died of chronic radiation exposure himself, at least not yet, so it might help with that too.

Roadhog brought the bag up to Junkrat's mouth. "Breathe," he ordered. This was going to work. It _had_ to work, if only for long enough for Junkrat to take his regular pills and get a little food inside him.

If nothing else, the hogdrogen seemed to have some painkilling effects along with the healing, so at least Junkrat wouldn't be hurting.

Junkrat blinked at him in confusion, then glanced down to the canister in his hand and understanding sparked. He sealed his lips to the mouth of the bag, and Roadhog loosened his grip enough for Junkrat to suck the gas out of it. Junkrat pulled it in and held it, scrawny ribcage fully expanded, before he lost it all in a fit of coughing.

"How the fuck do you breathe that shit?" he asked. "It _stings_."

Roadhog just grunted in answer and let him take a few breaths of regular air. Roadhog hadn't noticed the sting of it in years, he'd almost forgotten. It would be best to see how it treated Junkrat before they went for another hit. The canister did have a warning label that said too much of it could kill, and Junkrat was so much smaller than Roadhog was. He probably couldn't take a quarter as much as Roadhog did.

"Oh right, the treasure," Junkrat said. His pupils were a little wide, but he wasn't shaking as bad anymore. He giggled nervously. "Better tell you how to get to it, right? At the top of the canyon out by—"

"Shut up!" Roadhog snapped. He wasn't giving up yet, and Junkrat wasn't allowed to either. The smart thing to be would be to find out where the treasure was just in case, but he didn't want to. He couldn't face that, not yet. He filled the bag with hogdrogen again and handed it to Junkrat to hold. He could decide how he wanted to take it himself. He could take it in smaller breaths, so long as it ended up in his body. Roadhog went back to the bike for more supplies. They must have _something_ that would be gentle enough on Junkrat's stomach he could keep it down. Something better than cricket kebabs and charred wildlife.

They had a can of mixed vegetables. That might be good? It was soft enough, anyway. It was expired, but it hadn't split or bulged out anywhere so it was probably fine. Maybe Roadhog could make soup? Cut the rabbits up and boil them up nice and tender in some water with the vegetables. Roadhog dug out the cookpot from the bottom of his saddlebags. He didn't usually make soup – the water lost from evaporation didn't seem worth it, when every drop had to be run through reverse osmosis and then a carbon filter to get the worst of the radiation out so it was drinkable.

How much unfiltered water had Junkrat drunk in his life? A little kid in the apocalypse couldn't fight for resources and safety the way a grown man could.

There was an open packet of 'onion soup' flavoring in the bottom of the cookpot, still about a quarter full. That was good. And a half bag of rice. Rice was easy on the belly, Roadhog knew that much. He carried his findings over to the fire and began throwing it all together into the pot.

"Soup," he told Junkrat, in explanation.

Rice pudding, that's what he was remembering being good on a tender belly. Milky and sweet with a dash of cinnamon. His mother always used to make it for him when he was sick, when he couldn't keep anything else down. Her hand stroking his hair, her soft lips on his brow to kiss him better.

No. Not _Roadhog's_ mother. Roadhog was born in blood and radioactive dust, fully grown and familyless. That woman had been Mako's mother.

He wasn't Mako anymore. Hadn't been in a long time. And considering the scraps and garbage Junkrat had grown up eating, something as rich as that remembered rice pudding would probably make him even sicker.

"What's Mako?" Junkrat asked.

Roadhog hadn't realized he said it out loud. "It's a name," he answered, though he didn't have to. And what the hell, Junkrat would probably forget it soon enough anyway. Even if he lived. "The name of a man I used to be."

Considering how long and hard Junkrat had pestered him to try and get his name out of him, the last thing Roadhog expected was for Junkrat to start bawling. He cried ugly, with huge gulping sobs and loud wails and honking snorts. His nose started running almost immediately, and the tears streaked the dirt and ash on his cheeks.

"I really am gonna die," Junkrat accused, throwing down the empty hogdrogen bag and covering his face with both arms. "Why else would you tell me? Go ahead, take off the mask too. Let the dying man look at your face. Why does it even matter?"

"No," Roadhog contradicted. Trust Junkrat to jump to the worst possible conclusion. Roadhog put the lid on the pot and touched the pill bottle in his pocket. If Junkrat couldn't keep a pill in his stomach, they'd have to find another way to get it into his body. Roadhog knew they had a few spoons, or they had last time he wanted one. It was entirely possible Junkrat had used them as parts for an explosive somewhere along the way. He went back to the bike in search.

"Why else?" Junkrat demanded. "You're being nice. Making soup. Telling names. Letting me sip your hogdrogen. You never do that. Never. Give him a good last day 'cause he's dying?" Junkrat's tone had turned from crying to shouting, and he struggled his way to his feet. "I don't need your pity! I don't need your help! I'll take care of this myself, right now!"

Junkrat had a grenade in his hand, pin out, holding it against his neck to blow his head clean off. It was in his flesh hand, or Roadhog might not have been able to get it away from him in time. He ripped the grenade out of Junkrat's fingers and threw it as hard as he could. It exploded with a sharp bang and a shower of dirt and rock.

"I'm trying to make you live!" Roadhog roared. Junkrat just had to make that as difficult as possible, didn't he? Roadhog suppressed the urge to shake him, not while he was already so sick. Junkrat's red-rimmed eyes had filled with tears again, bottom lip sticking out and trembling. He crumpled forward to hide his face against Roadhog's hand, still holding his, rubbed his snot and tears on it.

"I don't wanna die, Hoggie," he sobbed. "I don't."

He could have fooled Roadhog. "Good," Roadhog grunted, and sat down with him on his blanket. Junkrat curled up tight and leaned against the side of his belly, still sniffling. Roadhog took out the bottle of biotics, and carefully fished out a single pill to put in one of the spoons he'd picked up before Junkrat tried to blow himself up. He set the second spoon on top of it, and pushed them together to crush the pill. He ground the spoons together a bit, then used the tip of the second spoon to fluff it up and break up any last pieces until it was a uniform pale blue powder.

This was familiar from another life, too, crushing up pills in the back rooms of clubs where his nail polish was different colors and carried a very different kind of message than it did now. Back when there _were_ clubs, other than the kind to smash someone's brains out with. He almost wished he had a bill to roll up and offer Junkrat with the powder, but paper money was less than worthless in the Outback these days. They had no reason to carry it around.

"Here," Roadhog said, carefully passing the spoon over to the waiting Junkrat. "Try snorting it."

"That'll work?" Junkrat asked, eying it cautiously.

"It'll get into you. You can't keep it down, so..." Roadhog shrugged. It was worth a try. It wasn't going to kill him any faster than the radiation poisoning already was, anyway. Junkrat wiped his nose on his shorts, covered one nostril with his thumb, and snorted the crushed biotics down.

It gave Junkrat a sneezing fit, of course, but it seemed like the majority of the biotics powder stayed inside him where it belonged.

They'd tried. Roadhog couldn't know if a medicine intended to be digested would still heal Junkrat this way, but it was all he could think to try. He'd given it his best shot. Maybe it would do enough that Junkrat could take a pill normally with dinner and keep it down. He rested his hand on Junkrat's back, feeling the fever-heat of him. That hadn't gone down yet, if it was ever going to.

If it didn't, if Junkrat only got worse, Roadhog _would_ give him a clean death like he asked. He wouldn't abandon him and let him rot away and boil from the inside. He didn't deserve to die like that.

Junkrat cringed when Roadhog rubbed his thumb back and forth across his back, trying to soothe himself and the clawing desperation in his chest as much as offer Junkrat some kind of comfort.

"Skin hurts," Junkrat said, shaking his head, and Roadhog stopped. Junkrat's hair was terrible, just a few ragged clumps left on his soot-blackened scalp. It would grow back, as much as it ever did. Roadhog held firmly to the belief that it would grow back, even as a few more pale strands drifted down from Junkrat's head.

There wasn't anything else to do but just sit there, waiting for the biotics to kick in or not, waiting for the soup to cook. It started to bubble eventually, the smell of onion powder and meat wafting out from under the lid. It set Roadhog's belly to rumbling.

He'd have eaten it as soon as the rice was tender, but boiling it until the meat was falling off the bones would probably be best for Junkrat. When it was all nice and soft for him to eat. The rice and vegetables would probably turn into mush by then, but that was fine.

If Junkrat could eat and gather strength and heal, then almost anything was fine.

"Can I have more hogdrogen? I think it helped," Junkrat asked, toying with the empty bag. Roadhog immediately fished the canister out to refill the bag. Junkrat sipped on it, little breaths interspersed with breaths of regular air. He giggled a little, a good laugh, not a nervous or desperate one. His skin felt a little cooler – or maybe Roadhog had been touching him too long to be able to tell anymore.

Junkrat drank some water from his canteen, and didn't have to run away to throw it up. That had to be a good sign.

"This is the good stuff," he said, waving the empty bag. "More."

Roadhog went ahead and gave him more. It might be helping, and it didn't seem to be hurting at all. Junkrat took a big swallow of the gas, holding it in his lungs before losing it all in a happy giggle. The sun was going down, but there was still enough light for Roadhog to see that his pupils were blown wide, his irises almost completely disappeared. He was getting high on the hogdrogen, or maybe on the biotics he'd snorted, or some combination of the two. Roadhog didn't tend to feel high off hogdrogen, but then again he was much bigger than Junkrat. Or maybe he did. He felt big and invincible and hungry when he took a breather to heal, which wasn't all that different from how he usually felt so maybe he'd never noticed.

Junkrat breathed down the last of the hogdrogen and tossed the bag aside to pet Roadhog's belly tattoo with both hands. He prodded Roadhog's bellybutton, making a little piggy snorting sound as he poked the pig's snout and giggling.

Definitely high. And Roadhog was definitely going soft on Junkrat to be letting him get away with it. He batted Junkrat's hands away, and Junkrat pasted a sloppy smooch on his bellybutton instead.

"I'll tell you a secret. You're my fifth best mate," Junkrat whispered to the tattoo. "Hog's piggy 'cause you're cute, then Hog's hog because he drives me around, and then my frag launcher, and then my riptire, and then Hog's the best!" He giggled to himself. "I'm _starving_." Junkrat's focus changed as quickly as it had come. "We gonna eat or what?"

Junkrat was finally _hungry_ , and that loosened the sour feeling in Roadhog's chest just a little bit. Rather than answer he picked the discarded spoon up and put it back in Junkrat's hand, and went to the bike for a big tin mug to serve Junkrat soup in.

Junkrat meticulously wiped the spoon on his ratty shorts, and Roadhog scooped up a big serving of soup to hand to him.

"Eat slow," he instructed, and picked up the pot to eat his serving from that. It wasn't bad. The rabbit meat was still a little chewy, and the rice had some texture, and the flavor of onion from the soup mix was pleasant. Even some of the canned vegetables were still kind of recognizable. Beside him, Junkrat was stirring a pinch of gunpowder into his serving.

Roadhog sucked the meat of the rabbit bones and tossed them into the fire, and Junkrat was doing the same. He grinned at Roadhog over the edge of his mug. His head was almost entirely bald, his eyes were wide and red, his face smeared with dirt and tears and snot, a smudge of blue under his nose from the biotics – and Roadhog's heart still clenched with relief to see him smiling.

Roadhog shouldn't have let himself feel that way. It was ridiculous. If Roadhog was any kind of reasonable he would have taken the location of the treasure and taken it all for himself, when Junkrat was offering. Should have killed him like he asked, instead of trying so hard to keep him alive. No good came of caring, he'd learned that lesson hard and well.

Junkrat grinned and burped and fished around with his fingers in his mug for the last piece of rabbit, and Roadhog couldn't regret it.

"That staying down?" Roadhog asked.

Junkrat considered the question seriously, looking down at his skinny abdomen and prodding it experimentally. "I think... yeah, I think so! Soup, huh? You're a genius Roadhog!"

It probably had a lot more to do with biotics and hogdrogen. Roadhog didn't argue, just fished the biotics out of his pocket and shook a pill into his hand to offer Junkrat. "Here, boss."

Junkrat tossed it back and followed it with a swig of water before returning to licking his mug. Roadhog hadn't finished the pot yet, and he'd had more to begin with. He grabbed the mug from Junkrat to pour a little more of the soup in it. Shared out fifty-fifty just like they'd agreed.

When they were done eating Roadhog scoured the pot and mug with sand to clean them and put them back in the bike's saddlebags. The pill bottle was so small when Roadhog picked it up from the blanket to pocket it again. This tiny thing was the only thing keeping Junkrat alive. He shook it by his ear, then opened it to peer inside. There weren't very many pills left in it.

"How many of these do you have?" Roadhog asked. Wouldn't do much good to nurse Junkrat back to health now if he just ran out of medicine again in a week. They might not even be able to _reach_ somewhere they could get him more in only a week. Not that Roadhog wouldn't try.

"Tons," Junkrat said, tittering. "Got stashes of them halfway across the continent. First time I ever got real sick I traded for 'em. Found a guy who'd give you half a bottle if you could pay. Sucked his dick real pretty for a handful of pills, shoved a grenade up his ass, and took the whole crate for myself! Ha!" Junkrat smacked his metal knee for emphasis as he laughed, and then Roadhog's knee too.

"Hm," Roadhog said. Once upon a time the boy he'd been would have been appalled at someone selling humanitarian aid supplies. Roadhog knew that's just how the world worked; the powerful took resources, and the rest paid for it or died. Mostly just died.

"I showed him though, right? It says right on it 'not for sale' and he was living like a little king on the take." Junkrat snorted, playing with the hogdrogen bag. "Taking anything he wanted. I took his treasure, took his pills, and blew the rest of it to hell! Boom!" He giggled uproariously, and Roadhog left him to go get the rest of the blankets to set up camp for the night. Junkrat was playing with the partially emptied hogdrogen canister, trying to get it open. His flesh fingers weren't strong enough to depress the trigger, but he managed it with his mechanical hand. Of course it sprayed him in the face and he dropped it with a gasp and a laugh.

Junkrat sealed the bag around the nozzle of the canister and filled it up again. Roadhog took the canister away from him and put it back where it belonged in his bike. That was going to be annoying, keeping Junkrat from huffing it all now that he knew he liked it. The last thing Roadhog needed was to run out of hogdrogen and die in a firefight because Junkrat had wanted to get high.

Roadhog kicked some sand into the ashes of the fire, meticulously crushing it out under his boots.

"Gave most of them away," Junkrat said quietly, taking a long sip of hogdrogen. "Little kiddies shouldn't have to suck anyone's dick to survive, right? Told them to hide the bottles away for if they got sick." Junkrat nodded to himself, his head loose on his neck, and drained the rest of the bag. He grabbed Roadhog's hand, tugging him down toward the blankets when he was in range.

Roadhog let him dangle there for a while before he gave in and lay down beside him. Junkrat was quiet for the moment, just giggling a little, with his eyes mostly closed. It was _definitely_ time to cut him off from the hogdrogen. Probably shouldn't have let him take that last bag. Junkrat cuddled up close beside him, pulling Roadhog's arm over him to hold him cradled in his arms and made small purring sounds, rubbing his dirty face on Roadhog's chest. This was different. Not terrible, though. Roadhog definitely wasn't going to have sex with him tonight, if that's what Junkrat was after. Not until he was completely well again – or as well as he'd ever get with a lifetime's worth of radiation poisoning held back by out of date biotics.

Roadhog was definitely not going to let Junkrat be in charge of remembering to take his pills anymore. He probably forgot them more days than he remembered, with his tenuous grasp of time and nonexistent attention span. It probably balanced itself out most of the time, between days when he took more than one and days he forgot. Most of the time wasn't good enough, though. If Roadhog was going to keep Junkrat alive, he was going to keep him _alive_. It wouldn't be hard to hand him one every day at dinner. Such a small thing, and it might be the difference between Junkrat living for years or days.

"We need to get to a stash, get more pills," Roadhog said. Who knew how easy it would be to get biotics that worked on radiation poisoning once they were out of Australia? He'd rather not risk it.

Though, there had to be a doctor out there somewhere who, properly motivated with a scrapgun to the back of their head, could do something more permanent to fix Junkrat up. Would it even be possible to separate out the radiation from Junkrat? He was probably more radioactive elements than anything else, growing up how he did. Even his eyes, those vivid orange eyes – Roadhog knew well enough that nobody had eyes like that before the Omnium blew.

"All in the plan, Hoggie," Junkrat promised in a mumble. "Hitting three stashes on our way out." He held up two fingers. "And then _boom_. All the world on fire, hehehe. Junkrat and Roadhog's personal barbecue. Tasty."

"Sure boss," Roadhog agreed. "Sounds... fun." It did. Wholesale destruction beside Junkrat was the best fun he'd had in way too long, and bigger hits were only going to be better. Take back from a world that turned its back on them and never gave them shit. Make Australia unignorable.

"So fun," Junkrat promised. "Take a pill every day and live long enough to make a little mayhem. Blow me all to bits when I die, promise?" He laughed. "Put me in some shiny monument and send it into orbit!"

Junkrat didn't really need feedback to keep talking. Roadhog had learned that early on when he'd fruitlessly hoped that ignoring Junkrat would make him shut up. He'd gotten used to the chatter now. It was just another sign of the ridiculous weakness that had worked itself under his skin that he didn't want to shove a sock in Junkrat's mouth to shut him up anymore.

If he was talking, he was alive.

"Gets worse every time," Junkrat said. "I get sick and I get better. I get sicker and I get better. I get sicker and faster every time. One time I'm not coming back." He laughed, like it was at an old joke. It wasn't really funny. "Doomed when the Omnium blew. Just give me a few more years? I'm not done."

Roadhog didn't know who he was begging. The devil or the radiation or Roadhog himself. "It's my job. Keeping you alive," Roadhog answered anyway. He coughed a bit, clearing his bad lungs. Not at all because his eyes were wet and his throat was choking up because he was holding a scrawny vicious scrap of a person in his arms who'd never gotten a chance and was taking one anyway. Clawing away anything he could take with anything he could get his hands on.

He shouldn't care that much. It shouldn't matter. That's how the world got you, gutted you and left you as desolate as the worst of the radiation wastes. Better not to feel anything than that.

Like Roadhog had any choice, at this point.

At least Junkrat wasn't burning up anymore, Roadhog could tell that much. His temperature had finally gone down to his regular warmth, and some of the sour fear in Roadhog's chest eased. Junkrat was getting better, at least this time.

And Roadhog was going to do his damn best to make sure there _wasn't_ a next time the radiation poisoning caught up with him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading!
> 
> There is now art of this fic by the ever-lovely Hattie!
> 
> [http://hattedhedgehog.tumblr.com/post/159072606407](http://hattedhedgehog.tumblr.com/post/159072606407/a-little-roadrat-comic-based-on-the-fic-cumulative)
> 
> If you'd like to read about Junkrat and Roadhog getting some real medical care, please continue on to the final fic in this series!  
> <3  
> TS


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